


Free and in the Wild

by BanhTM



Series: Rainbow Rocket Stories [10]
Category: Pocket Monsters SPECIAL | Pokemon Adventures, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Adult Humor, Bike gang, Crude Humor, Cyrus has 5 dads Ghetsis included, Cyrus learns his mannerisms from his 5 dads, Family, Friendship, Gen, Implied Nudity, Pop Culture, Rainbow Rocket, Strong Language, references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29769936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanhTM/pseuds/BanhTM
Summary: What if Rainbow Rocket was a bike gang?Inspired by Wild Hogs, so don't expect anyone to have more than two brain cells.
Series: Rainbow Rocket Stories [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148357
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Free and in the Wild

Five motorcycles rumble down a stretch of desert road. Heat rises from the cracked earth; tumbleweeds shatter under the grooves of reinforced tires.

In the lead is the bulkiest motorbike: black with red lining, engine purring like a spoiled Persian. Its owner, an old man who wholly believes that one's biological age is just a social construct, adjusts his rearview mirror so he can see the rest of his gang.

"Eyes on the road, Giovanni," says a bitter man with the most fragrant, silky-smooth hair on this side of Nimbasa City.

"It is unfair how such a horrible human being is gifted with such beautiful hair," Lysandre murmurs from behind. He tucks his shiny red locks out of his tasteless shades. "You're blocking my vision, Ghetsis. Tie your stalks up."

"And deny the world the privilege to glimpse perfection? You're just jealous. I don't use half as many beauty products as you do, and look at my skin. You've never seen cleaner pores."

"Petty too. I'd slap you, but in Kalos, we don't hit vegetables. Only watermelons."

Ghetsis whips his hair into Lysandre's face. "Watermelon isn't a vegetable, you narcissistic furry!"

Lysandre kicks Ghetsis off his motorbike. "Don't you _dare_ call me a furry, you overgrown jar of dill!"

While the two giants bicker, their colleague to the right snickers.

"They're at it again," he says, his crimson eyes glinting cruelly. "Our arguments are much more refined, aren't they, Archie?"

"Mmph."

"Aw, are you still mad about being forced to sit in the sidecar?"

The original plan was for each person to bring their own motorcycle. Cue a last-minute "accident" in which Archie's bike mysteriously caught on fire.

Archie sighs. "I know it was you, Maxie. You snuck out to smoke again. And instead of throwing your butt into the trash, you flicked it into my bike. Some environmentalist you are."

Maxie sneezes. "Well, maybe you'd still have your bike if you'd closed your fuel tank properly. All I did was take a smoke break."

"Let me drive."

"Hell no!"

Archie pounces at Maxie, who roars and jams his elbows against the handlebars which causes the motorbike to swerve sharply to the right where it rams into Lysandre's custom fender which infuriates him so much that he kicks Ghetsis again and sends the latter flying into Giovanni's engine, the impact scratching his precious cat stickers.

"MY SON PUT THOSE STUPID STICKERS ON WHILE I WAS FEEDING THE MAGIKARP!" Giovanni bellows.

"They're stupid!" Ghetsis yells. "Like your face!"

"Imbéciles!" Lysandre roars. "I had this bike shipped from Kalos!"

"Lys, this isn't always about you—ow! Maxie, stop biting!"

Then it happens. The tapping of fingers against metal isn't a noteworthy sound, but the older men feel needles jabbing into their hearts.

"Yer an embarrassment to all respectable motorbike clubs," says Cyrus, the youngest of the group. "And yer shocked to why folks look down on Rainbow Rocket."

Giovanni takes offense to that. "You make us sound like losers who drive around because we have nothing better to do! Rainbow Rocket is the dastardliest of all bike gangs! Do you know anyone else who has _these_ logos?"

Maxie pokes at his leather jacket. "Someone remind us we're _Rainbow Rocket?_ Why not something memorable like _Los Diablos_ or _Warriors of Kagutsuchi?"_

Giovanni shakes his fist vehemently. _"I_ started the gang, so _I_ get to name it! We are Rainbow Rocket, and that's final!"

"What does a bike gang even do?" says Archie. "Are we going to steal from people? Terrorize towns, plunder banks?"

"We're bikers, not villains."

"But we're a gang."

All heads turn to Giovanni, who feels his neck heat up from the unwanted attention.

"We ride to live and live to ride," Ghetsis says helpfully. "Also, unlike other gangs, we don’t haze new recruits."

"Yes, but it's not like anyone wants to _join_ Rainbow Rocket," says Maxie. "We're all middle-aged men ranging from our late thirties to early fifties. Except Cyrus, of course. He's eighteen."

"I'm twenty with seven years tacked on."

"You do you, Cyrus. Anyhow, I say we just get back to the road and go where the volcanic ash takes us."

Archie grabs Maxie's arm. "I'm driving. You drive like a maniac."

"Land, sea, sky then. Best two out of three."

The best friends throw down. Since the game is wholly subjected to the players, an argument breaks out whether it's land that dominates sea and vice versa.

"Let Cyrus decide then!" Archie snaps.

Everyone turns to Cyrus, who had long sped ahead.

* * *

The five motorbikes (and Maxie's sidecar) cruise down an expanse of brittle, dusty earth. Everyone is trying hard to ignore Archie, who's belting at the top of his lungs.

"I'm on the hiiiighway to Hooooen! ON THE HIGHWAY TO HOOOOEN!"

"We're in the middle of Unova!" Ghetsis hisses. He then slams his brakes. "Hold up. I'll be back."

"Number one or two?" calls Giovanni.

"Shut up, old man. Peek at something else!"

While they wait for Ghetsis to do his business, Lysandre produces a pocket mirror and checks for dark spots under his eyes.

And Ghetsis returns not a minute later, his face a flushed crimson. "Cover me," he grunts.

Giovanni rolls his eyes. "I thought you were done."

Scowling, Ghetsis glances around the empty, flat terrain. A tumbleweed blows through. Somewhere in the mountains, a coyote howls to the rippling sun. "These cacti don't cover anything. What if it pokes me?"

"You don't have any to begin with."

"Come on! I really need to go!"

Cyrus pulls out his Pachirisu blanket, the one Archie had gotten for his 20th birthday. "If his bladder bursts, I ain't cleaning that chiz up. Ghetsis, I'll cover ya."

They find a barren spot. While Ghetsis squats down, still fully-clothed, Cyrus holds up his blanket as a partition. The rest of the men watch because they have nothing better to do.

"Giovanni."

"Yes, Lysandre?"

"That's a cute blanket."

"Age-appropriate too." 

They hum as they nod.

"Ghetsis is as tall as Cyrus when he squats."

"Then _you_ hold the blanket."

Lysandre blanches. "And have his poor aim sully my outfit? He's blind in his right eye, for crying out loud!"

"He actually has 30% vision left in that eye," says Maxie, a cigarette dangling between his lips. "It's been years. Is it coming out any time soon?"

"We should make snake sounds," says Archie. "I heard that helps with constipation, helps it sssslide right out—"

"AAUUGH!"

"It came out!"

A furious Ghetsis storms back to the gossip circle with Cyrus slowly trailing behind, letting his blanket air out in the dry breeze.

"No one can concentrate with your ridiculous commentary!" Ghetsis roars. "I'm finding a proper bathroom. Somewhere where there's a wall between me and you perverted losers!"

Maxie snickers. "Concentrate? You're taking a piss, not a math test." He waves a hand around the desolate landscape. "Where will you even find a portable toilet? We'll have to commandeer a trailer or something."

Ghetsis is already on his motorbike. "That's _exactly_ what we're going to do."

* * *

Not five minutes later, the gang locates a trailer park.

"I'll ask," Lysandre hums, smoothing out his fur-adorned leather jacket. "I have a way with the masses."

Maxie pats him endearingly on the shoulder. "Lys. You are the bane of the middle-class."

In the end, Cyrus is chosen as tribute to ask a stranger for their restroom. He gives his colleagues death glares, but since he doesn't want Ghetsis to implode, he marches to the nearest trailer and knocks.

The door opens to an elderly woman in a purple nightgown wielding a cane. In his gritty accent, Cyrus explains their situation, spinning an elaborate sob story behind their leather jackets and motorcycles. Hell, he's so good that he convinces his _own_ colleagues that they're on a charity run for endangered Shiny Pokemon.

"Of course!" says the old lady. "Come on in, sweetie. My name is Agatha, by the way."

With an elated, "Sweet cheesus lard!" Ghetsis flies into the bathroom and locks the door behind him. A great sigh of relief is heard throughout the darkened trailer.

"You must be starving," says Agatha, her glinting eyes tracing Cyrus's prominent cheekbones.

Archie feels his rumbling stomach. "We sure are!"

"NOT YOU!" Then to Cyrus, she gives a warm, motherly smile as she leads him to the table. "So, sweetie. Shouldn't you be in school? Or were you kidnapped by these ugly old men?"

"Ugly?" Lysandre echoes.

"Old?" Giovanni grunts.

"Don't talk bad about my folks," Cyrus growls.

Still smiling, Agatha produces a sheet of freshly-baked cookies. "Eat up, dearie, so you can get more meat on those bones, eeeheehee… After you finish your cookies, I'll make you a batch of my famous deviled eggs."

Cyrus falters at the smell of fresh food. "I-I'll take 'em to go—"

"NO! You'll eat them right here, where I can see you!" Agatha then smiles as if nothing happened. "Excuse me for a second. I'll make you a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice. It's a tad old-fashioned, but it's a labor of love, eeeheehee…"

After Agatha disappears into the back, Cyrus throws a wild, desperate look at his older colleagues, who immediately pull him out of there. Giovanni runs into the bathroom, breaks the knob, drags a belligerent Ghetsis out by his hair, and runs out of the trailer.

"I swear she wanted to eat you," Maxie mutters as they mount their bikes. "Fatten you up so you'll taste better. You okay, buddy?"

"I-I'm fine." Cyrus's stomach groans. He shoves a hand over his shirt, ears bright pink, and pulls his helmet over his eyes. That only prompts his older colleagues to spoil him with consoling murmurs.

Meanwhile, Ghetsis is covertly tightening his belt. "I _knew_ that old woman was up to no good. There were no windows in her bathroom—"

Something whizzes past Ghetsis's head, barely missing his scalp by mere nanometers. One second… two… and a bright red line appears on his cheek, expelling blood as it forms.

Lodged in the trunk of a nearby tree, the blade of an axe glimmers in the afternoon sun.

"GO, GO!"

Giovanni makes sure his colleagues go first before slamming on his gas pedal. In the rearview mirror is that old lady, sprinting after them with axes in her fists.

"She don't need no cane!" Archie screeches.

"I am so thankful that objects in these mirrors are closer than they seem," mutters Maxie, who slips back into the safety of the sidecar.

* * *

After who-knows-how-long, Giovanni signals for the gang to stop.

"Holy shit," Maxie murmurs. "She's crazier than me!"

"I still cannot fathom that stuff like that actually happens, " mutters Lysandre. "Cyrus, are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"You are very pale. Do you want to talk about it—"

"I'm fine!" Cyrus snaps. Then he rubs his stomach. "Sorry. I-I need a breather."

Ghetsis glances at his dash. "And we need gas. Didn't we pass by a water hole?"

There is indeed a small bar a short distance down the road. While they refuel, Giovanni notices a line of five sleek white motorbikes parked against the wall. One of them even has a sidecar.

"Hello!" booms a very enthusiastic voice belonging to a man with spiky red hair and a cape under his leather jacket. "Are you another motorcycle club?"

"We're a _biker gang_ ," Giovanni grumbles. "You too?"

"Indeed! I am Lance, a proud participant of the Champions motorcycle club!" He moves his hands a lot when he talks. Like he's swatting invisible flies. "Behold our logo, which I have stayed up three nights to complete!"

Their logo comprises of a yarn dragon which puts Silver's rainbow rocket ships to shame.

"Why is that dragon shitting?" Maxie says.

Lance's face falls. "Oh. That's a rock. Steven wanted a rock. And that's the Great Wave Off Kanagawa, not a tide of urine. Wallace's idea."

"Your logo is very busy."

"Tch. I know. But everyone wanted their own things. I was fine with my yarn dragon."

Then Lance smooths his cape. "It's always nice to meet another bike club. Come on in, friends!"

Inside the water hole is air conditioning, much to Giovanni's extreme delight. The only customers here are those wearing black and white leather jackets. Two newbie gangs/clubs.

"Everyone!" booms Lance. "This is Rainbow Rocket!"

"Rainbow Rocket?" repeats a woman with glorious golden hair which sweeps over her left eye. "Is that a knitting club?"

"We are a _motorcycle gang_ ," Ghetsis snaps.

"We are too," says a tall, large man with a poncho and creases around his kind eyes, signaling a life spent in laughter. "The Champions. I'm Alder, and that's Steven, Wallace, Cynthia, and Diantha."

"A pleasure," says Steven. "Have you seen any rare and valuable rocks on your encounters?"

Wallace sighs. "Are rocks the only thing on your mind?"

"Are jellyfish the only thing on yours?"

"They argue about the weirdest things, "Archie whispers to his best friend, who nods.

"Tell me about it. Who cares about rocks and jellyfish?"

A loud snore yanks everyone's attention to the woman with her head on the counter, an empty jug of beer in her manicured hand.

Lance hurries to cover her bare shoulders with his cape. "Once again, Diantha has underestimated her tolerance to alcohol. I guess we'll have to wait a bit before taking off."

"Put her in the side car," Steven says. "Wallace only knows how to drive flying sedans, not motorcycles. I almost threw up when he made that last turn."

"Excuse me? At least I know how to drive."

"Oh, bringing that up again, why don't you? When you drive, your stupid cape blocks everyone's views."

_"M-My_ cape is stupid? Have you seen Lance's?!"

"Don't bring me into this," Lance mutters from somewhere in the background.

"Now now," says Alder loudly. "Let's all calm down. We're here for fuel, not—"

But no one listens to him. While the best friends launch into argument, Cyrus orders a tub of spicy chicken wings from the wide-eyed owner. His stomach reaches for the food, but he stills it until he gives proper thanks. Like Maxie had taught him.

A half-drunk Cynthia watches him slip an entire drumstick into his mouth, where it never reappears. Like it got sucked into the void.

"What the hell?" she blurts. "You ate the bone too?"

"I hate wastin' food."

"You. Are soooo weird. Why are you hanging out with a bunch of old men with mid-life crises?"

Cyrus sneaks a glance at his colleagues. Lysandre is hitting it off with Wallace, discussing current fashion trends and justifying fingerless gloves. Giovanni and Alder have settled into a friendly conversation about benefactors and trustees. Ghetsis is sadistically tearing apart Steven's rock collection while Maxie howls with laughter and Archie just sits there with a cold jug of water.

"Don't disrespect my folks." Cyrus chomps down on a chicken wing as big as his head, tearing through skin, meat, and bone in one bite. "And you? What's The Champions' reason for existin'?"

A tad intrigued by this walking trash compactor, Cynthia squints into her half-full, lukewarm beverage. "We're bored, so Steven asked his dad for money for these awesome toys. Alder came 'cuz he thinks we're little shits who'll burn down a town without his oversight."

Cyrus licks clean every last drop of grease on his fingers. Not spicy enough, but still filling. "Y'all should be glad he came."

* * *

After Cyrus makes everyone use the restroom, Rainbow Rocket hits the road.

"I liked The Champions," Archie says as they cruise around a mountain face. "They're so eccentric—Maxie! Don't eat all the gravy! Last time you only left me the potatoes, and they were very dry!"

Ghetsis stares at the best friends, and he shakes his head. "That rock fanatic and the fashion disaster remind me of two other idiots that I know very well."

Maxie inhales the cup of gravy. "Who?"

"Exactly."

Giovanni slows down so he matches pace with Cyrus. "How you feeling, kid?"

"How're yer hips, sir?"

"I'm not that old!"

Cyrus snickers. "And I'm no manchild." Then his expression softens. "The scenery's really nice 'round here."

It is. Compared to the desert from earlier, their current location contains lush greenery, damp earth, and sparkling streams teeming with fish.

Inspired by nature's bounty, Archie belts into song.

"I'm on the highway to Hooooen!"

Ghetsis holds up a hand. "Stop. You need some beats first." And he drops the sickest beatboxing skills on this side of Nimbasa City. It's so awesome that everyone freaks out.

Maxie plants a foot on the seat and stands, shoulders rolling sensually as he raps a: "Cruising down on Sixth Street, we're relaxed and feeling gooooood!"

Giovanni scoffs. "Move aside ." He clears his throat. "Konna koto ii na—"

"Haven't heard that since N was 21," Ghetsis mutters. "Let's see how well you do when I change from 8 beats to 16!"

Which Giovanni absolutely slays, spitting fire to a beloved children's classic cartoon.

Meanwhile, Lysandre has set up a tarp around himself since he's within Ghetsis's spitting range.

"I heard Kalos has a lot of famous singers," says Archie. "Sing for us, Lys!"

Lysandre rubs his beard thoughtfully. "I don't sing for a living, but I do practice in the shower. I am particularly fond of our language adaptations for Unovan cartoons."

He clears his throat. Presses a fist against his chest, channeling all his passion, his rage, his love for melodramatics; the concoction of passion melts into a dark, rich, operatic echo that sends shivers down everyone's spines.

"Infernale! Bacchanale! L'Enfer noircit ma chair—"

Everyone lobs grass at him.

"This is no time to be preaching about your burning lust!" Maxie hollers _. "Especially_ in front of Cyrus!"

"It's okay!" Cyrus yelps, eyes darting around the empty road. "You got a wonderful voice, Lysandre. I don't understand nothin' ya just said, but it was very beautiful to listen to."

"Beautiful?" Lysandre bitterly flicks the grass stains off his vest. "Merci. I suppose."

"We need to keep it family-friendly," says Archie. "What cartoons do you watch, Cyrus?"

Heat flushes to Cyrus's ears. "Ah. Erm. I-I watch whatever y'all watch."

The older men's faces fall. That's true. There's only one television back home, and no one watches cartoons. Just crime drama, National Topographic, Peanut Butter Station (PBS), sports, and cooking shows. They huddle, whisper it out, and reconvene with Ghetsis setting up a beginner-friendly rhythm. Maxie uses his seat as a drum.

"Silver loves this show," Giovanni says brightly. "We'll sing it with you."

Archie starts. "I wanna be! The very best! Like no one! Eveeer was!"

"POKEMON!" Maxie bellows.

"It's you and me! I know it's my destiny!"

"POKEMON!" Ghetsis barks through a mouthful of spit.

"You teach me and I'll teach you!"

"P-PokeMON!" Lysandre wheezes.

"Ooooh, you're my best friend! In a world! We must defeeeend! Cyrus!"

"Huh? Po-POKEMON!"

Ghetsis stops beatboxing. "Cyrus, you came in late two beats."

Cyrus groans and drives ahead of his snickering company. They're so embarrassing.

He doesn't hate it though.

* * *

The gang stops at a clearing of ferns and waterfalls. A scenic, picturesque camping spot if they were a normal nuclear family.

Archie peels off his tank top and jumps into the water. Not a bad idea for a sweltering day. Even Lysandre gets in because at this point he's willing to get clean by any means necessary. Cyrus stays on dry land because he's too self-conscious to take off his shirt despite living with these old men for years now.

Maxie shoots out of the water, his back arched like a mermaid, his mullet untangling to long red strands which glimmer like the colors of the wind.

"Woah! Come on in, Cyrus, the water's fine! We don't bite! That hard," he adds with a wink.

"You're not helping," Giovanni mutters.

Ghetsis whistles. "Nice tats. What creatures are those?"

Everyone oohs and aahs while Giovanni explains each piece of body art: A koi swimming in a pool of sakura petals. A dragon encircling an unsheathed katana. A Nue from ancient Kantonese mythology. Oh, and this is a knife wound.

"Did it hurt?" murmurs Lysandre, who prefers to keep himself scar-free and immaculate. "Wait, when did you get stab—" 

Giovanni laughs loudly. "When I bring you losers to Kanto, we're hitting up that irezumi parlor!"

While his older colleagues compare their muscles, Cyrus heads back to the motorbikes, plucks the heap of damp, sweat-stained clothes off the ground, and dumps it all into the stream.

"Thanks for washing our clothes!" Ghetsis shouts.

"It's not like I want to!" Cyrus snaps back. "You grownass adults never pick up after yerselves! Yer slobs, both back home _and_ on the road!"

Lysandre chuckles proudly. "He's right."

Then brilliance slaps Maxie in the face. He squirms a bit before tossing his briefs into Cyrus's direction, much to the latter's extreme disbelief.

"Do I _look_ like your maid?" he barks.

"But you're already washing our clothes!" Maxie insists. "You love us, right?"

"You five are 95% of the reasons why I get no damn sleep at night!"

Nonetheless, Cyrus picks up Maxie's undergarment with the edge of his fingernail.

Archie throws his next. Then Giovanni—

"You wear a loincloth?!"

—but Ghetsis and Lysandre take more convincing. Due to their gigantic sizes, they have to squat down so the water obscures their scandalous parts.

"I don't get paid enough for this," Cyrus grumbles.

"I don't pay you at all," says Giovanni.

Lysandre yelps. "S-Something just brushed past me!"

Archie resurfaces. "Sorry. It's so cramped in here."

"We're going to find someplace with room for social distancing," says Ghetsis. "Don't go anywhere, Cyrus."

Cyrus scoffs. After his noisy colleagues leave, he sets about doing what he does best: cleaning up after his superiors. Sometimes he thinks that's why they took him in. Because he's useful with his hands.

As he hangs the leather jackets out to dry, Cyrus is approached by a large man with sandals and a friendly grin on his weathered face.

"You're Cyrus, right? Of the Rainbow Rocket?"

Cyrus blinks. "Ah. You're Alder, of The Champions. Afternoon, sir."

Alder laughs warmly. "Looks like your club left you in charge of cleaning after them. We're kindred spirits, Cyrus. While you're traveling with old men like myself, I'm stuck babysitting whippersnappers your age."

They settle into polite conversation about the weather, food, and Alder's recently departed partner. The man is the most honest, genuine, empathetic person Cyrus has ever met. The first good influence in his adult life. It feels weird, though. He's not used to that.

A ten-minute chat is a lifetime of friendship with Alder, as the man quickly grows fond of ruffling Cyrus's hair and erupting into boisterous laughter.

"Your club should join us for BBQ one day! I make the meanest rubs this side of Opelucid City!"

He then dumps out The Champions' dirty laundry. Cyrus notes something very odd in that pile, something he'd never seen in a household of men.

Lace? A black thong adorned with lace.

"Sorry," says Alder. "They're so comfortable with each other that they go skinny dipping in any body of water they cross."

"Pffft. That's exactly what my folks—"

And Cyrus stops cold. He stares at the Dragonite-print boxers, the Feebas briefs, the two-piece bustier and the racy white bikini with "Naughty" emblazoned over the thin surface.

Oh. Oh shit on a stick lodged in the crack of the jack.

In another part of the stream, Cyrus's fears have come true. He races past the grove to see his colleagues and The Champions squaring off against the other, both sides oblivious to the fact that their rivals lack anything underneath.

"What'd you say?" Maxie is yelling to a scowling Steven. "I dare you to say that again, punk!"

And Steven responds by shoving Maxie back… only to get slapped across the face by Maxie, who gets slapped harder by Wallace, who is punched in the jaw by Archie.

"Water fight!" Cynthia bellows.

Lance scrambles to hold her down. "Wait! Our clothes are with Alder, remember? We, The Champions, are the figureheads of our regions—"

Diantha tackles him from behind, and down he goes. That leaves Cynthia free to pounce on Ghetsis, who screams and falls over, his legs sticking out of the water, knees erect.

"Woah!" Cynthia exclaims. "They're skinny dipping too! Let's do Marco Polo—"

A primal scream freezes everyone in place. Cyrus slips into the water, grabs his colleagues by their visible limbs, tosses some clothes over them, and drags them away all while Alder gawks with so many questions on his mind.

* * *

Nightfall approaches when Rainbow Rocket pulls into another campsite. No one speaks. No one dares to look at Cyrus, who makes it abundantly clear form his body language that he doesn't know any of them.

Alas, Ghetsis blurts, "They started it!"

"I did not partake in the charades," Giovanni states.

"It was too cold for me," Lysandre adds.

"Wallace hit Maxie first!" Archie huffs.

Maxie slowly rolls his tongue around his mouth, marinating on whether to acknowledge that he was the instigator or push all the fault onto the rival gang. He does the latter by staying quiet.

Cyrus sighs so loudly that his shoulders droop. "Forget it. I'll look 'round fer food while y'all set up the fire."

The older men mill mindlessly around the campsite. Usually Cyrus is the one who sets up everything. But they're done relying on that kid! They'll show him just how capable they are at domestic duties!

Cyrus returns to a roaring campfire whose flames tower over Ghetsis. With the exception of Maxie who's gleefully tossing in sticks into the pile, the rest of the men are scurrying around for something to extinguish the fire before it spreads.

Then Giovanni grabs the nearest thing he can find and tosses it into the flames. It works. With the forest fire prevented, everyone exchanges high-fives.

"Pardon."

"What is it, Cyrus?"

"Ain't that our tent?"

Everyone squints into the charred ashes. Taking their silence as confirmation, Cyrus gets his blanket from the stash, distances himself from his bike club, and swaddles himself into a ball. He starts snoring not a second later.

* * *

When morning arrives, Rainbow Rocket hits up another water hole to both refuel their bikes and stomachs.

"This is no place for kids," growls the bouncer. All it takes is a glare from Cyrus for her to quickly retract that statement.

This is a _real_ biker's bar. Rough, burly, hairy people domineer every available seat. The air reeks of sweat, motor oil, and leather. Heavy jugs of beer clank noisily on the table amidst the din of rowdy laughter.

No one spares five old men a second glance as they disperse themselves near the counter.

"Cyrus is still mad at us," Ghetsis whispers, chin jutting to said young man who has his face in his hands.

"Then cheer him up!" says Lysandre.

"Let's sing!" says Archie.

"Let's tell dad jokes!" says Maxie.

Giovanni waves all that aside. To the muscular, tattooed bartender he says, "What flavor ice cream do you have?"

The bartender sneers. "You geezers think we're some sort of daycare? Go home to your grandkids, gramps."

Unfazed, Giovanni leans in. "See that kid over there? That's our adopted grandchild. We might not be the best role models, but we're the closest he has to a family. Our road trip is my poor excuse of spending more time together.

"Just recently, we messed up and now he's disappointed in us. That's why I'm asking you for some ice cream so I can apologize without making a fool of myself."

The bartender sets the glass down. Then she scoffs and heads to the back, returning with the alpha of this joint: spiked rings on her fingers, rose tattoos covering every pore of skin like a body suit. But Giovanni never breaks eye contact, even as the boss shoves herself into his personal space.

"We only got zhe strawberry," she growls.

"So be it."

The rest of Rainbow Rocket gawks as their leader triumphantly raises the petite cup of bright pink strawberry ice cream. There's even a lollipop in there.

"Wow," Ghetsis mutters. "You lie just as well as Cyrus."

Giovanni frowns. "What lie?"

The ice cream is promptly delivered to Cyrus, who carefully removes his boots from the table. Then he sighs.

"Listen. Y'all don't hafta bring me gifts whenever I'm embarrassed of you. I've resigned myself to the fact that no one's perfect, Ghetsis included."

Ghetsis's smirk fades. "Woah, hold on—"

"But that's okay. Because I always have fun travelin' alongside my family."

Family. The older men practically kneel over from the recognition, Ghetsis included. While they recover from the heartwarming acknowledgement, Cyrus eagerly puts on his helmet.

"I'll be waitin' outside," he says breathlessly. "Word on the wind is that there's a cool alien landin' site nearby, and I want to see it before the sun comes down."

Lysandre grabs the untouched ice cream. "Then let us hit the road, gentlemen! Onward!"


End file.
